


Time

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Natasha is not happy, Poison, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An op goes south, and an agent is down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: On an op gone bad Phil gets poisoned, and it's up to Clint and Nat to save him before time runs out.  
> Prompt: Clint/Coulson - Secret Husbands

Clint Barton's vision narrows into a tunnel, hyper-focused on the target. Only his arm and shoulder moves, smoothly pulling back on the bow and releasing. Not even waiting to see if it hits before he is nocking and pulling the next, letting it fly and taking out the second guard without any alarms being raised.

They're on silent comms, so Clint doesn't call to confirm the kill, just watches until he sees a blue post-it stuck to the window directly opposite the guards, Only then does he drop from his perch, and make his way silently to the rendezvous point.

Widow is already there, and they start uncovering the jeep, swiftly and efficiently preparing their getaway.

Clint starts getting twitchy after two solid minutes of no Coulson.

Natasha starts to look worried a minute after that.

Clint lifts his eyes to her. _He's never late._

She nods, thinking along the same lines as him, and they both switch back into tactical mode.

Widow swings left, Hawk goes right.

-

It takes them far too long, almost eight minutes, to find Coulson.

He's laying in a corridor, outside some sort of hospital lab looking place, his skin a sickly shade of green.

Natasha is immediately scolding him for not calling them, even though she knows as well as anyone that Coulson doesn’t break protocol for any reason.

“There's no time..”

He coughs weakly, and Clint knows what he's trying to say. But he's _not_ having it. He won't even consider the possibility.

Clint looks at Natasha. “Find someone.”

She hears what he's not saying.

Widow disappears, and Clint looks around, ducking into the nearby room, sorting through overturned hospital tables and other assorted debris, and eventually finds a syringe with some lime green residue.

It _has_ to be the right one. Clint hurries back to the older man.

He shakes Agent Coulson a bit with no response.

“Coulson. Coulson!” Clint takes a deep breath. _Keep it together Agent._

“Phil, please.” His voice cracks, and Clint grits his teeth because there's no way that he's losing him all over again, he _can't_...

There's an eyelid flutter, and Clint's heart leaps in his chest.

“Yes, Phil. Wake up. I need to know if this is it.”

He holds the vial close to Coulson's face. “Is this what they jabbed you with?”

Coulson deliberately blinks once, and Clint is eighty-five percent sure that means yes.

He hopes.

Natasha arrives with someone who seems to have hit every step on the way down a _long_ staircase.

Barton is immediately in the guy's face asking the same question.

And then asking about antidotes. Of course, the fucker doesn't know shit.

All he knows is that the scientists kept stuff in a locked mini-fridge.

Clint dashes back into the room, tearing through debris like a madman, but finds a fridge just as the guy had said. It's very satisfying to hit the damn thing with a metal bar until it breaks open.

Clint starts pulling things out and swears under his breath as he looks at them.

The labels are gibberish.

It's a code or some shit and Clint just wants to smash everything like Hulk.

“Tasha.”

She's at the doorway immediately.

“It's in code.”

“I'm on it.”

They switch places, Clint handing her the vial, and then back to Phil who is even greener and has slumped to his side.

Clint gathers the man up in his arms, knowing there's no time, no hope, but this is Phil Coulson and he's _not_ going to give up so easily.

He's holding Phil in his lap, rocking and speaking to him under his breath when Natasha comes back with something in her hand.

Clint's look up at her says, _Will it save him?_

Her look says, _Maybe._

Clint takes a deep breath, takes it from her, and jabs the needle into Coulson's thigh. He depresses the plunger as Coulson jerks in his arms, and then watches the agent's face.

Nothing happens.

Clint doesn't realize that he's counting in his head until he hits the minute mark. If it was going to work, it would have done it by now.

Natasha's already gone, back in the other room. He can hear the destruction.

He presses his forehead to Phil's and closes his eyes tightly, trying to keep it together. He's a fucking Avenger for chrissake.

“C'mon, babe. Fight through it. Please. You owe me, you bastard.” he's muttering so Tasha won't hear but he needs to say something to Phil.

“For those months after New York, letting me think you were dead. For that shitty ass quickie vegas wedding. For having to keep us a secret because Shield would split us up. You still owe me a fucking honeymoon, dammit.”

His cheeks are wet, which Clint doesn't notice until there's a hand touching it.

His eyes fly open, and there's Coulson looking up at him, and the older man smiles a bit.

“I'll have you know, the Elvis wedding is a classic.”

“You fucking asshole.” Clint wipes his face with his sleeve, muttering under his breath. “What the fuck happened?”

Coulson doesn't answer, just shifts himself into a more upright position and then grabs a handful of Clint's jacket and pulls him close. Clint wants to protest, wants to tell Coulson that he's hurt and he should not be exerting himself this way, but all ability to think goes out the window as his lips are pressed against those of the man he loves.

Phil's hand slides around to the back of his neck, grounding him as his lips part, hungrily seeking out the older man's tongue. Coulson licks his way into his husband's mouth, twines their tongues, and loses himself in kissing Clint thoroughly. It's an apology, and Clint accepts it greedily.

“I'm guessing it worked then.”

Natasha's voice is dry as she crosses her arms and leans against the doorway.

Clint startles back, lips kiss swollen, darting a guilty glance at Natasha.

Coulson is already pushing himself up and brushing off his suit. He faces the Black Widow calmly.

“It was a need to know.” he answers the question she didn't ask.

Clint winces. “Um, that's probably-”

“When?”

Clint looks at Natasha, waves his hand vaguely. “Oh a couple weeks, give or-”

“73 days.” Coulson stares her down.

Clint hangs his head. _She's going to kill me. Then him. Then me again._

“I'm going to kill him. Then you. Then him again.”

“SHIELD doesn't know.” Coulson's offering his reasoning.

The Black Widow eyes him coldly. She's not buying it.

Coulson meets her gaze mildly, but Clint can see the tension in the way his spine is ramrod straight, the way that he's holding his neck.

“Tasha...” Clint gets up, and she looks at them both and shakes her head.

“You both are dead. And I'm telling the rest of the team.”

Without waiting for an answer, Natasha spun on her heel and left.

Coulson looks down at Clint.

“Looks like the honeymoon's over.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Time In A Bottle by Jim Croce
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


End file.
